Rightfully Wrong Rewrites
by ZILrulestheworld
Summary: 50 prompts from Tatsumaki-sama's fanfiction, "Rightfully Wrong" have been turned into 50 ficclets.  hirumamo.
1. Privileges

A/N: I'm pulling my fifty prompts from Tatsumaki-sama's fanfiction, "Rightfully Wrong. " You can find it on if you search for it. Thanks for reading. Comments welcome.

Disclaimer: I make shit up.

1. Privileges:

_No other man should ogle and stare at her since he was the one to lay eyes on her first._

"Mmmmmnnnnnn!"

Mamori clasped her hands together, jutting her shoulders foreword as she reached out to the air before her. She rolled her hips and raised her arms skyward, biting her lip as she felt the sweet tension in her muscles. "NnnnnNnnngh!"

A line of soft white skin was slowly coming into view below the untucked hem of her uniform, and she gave a small sigh as the cool air hit her skin. Her muscles began to tense even before she drew her feet in, wiggling her hips a little as she leaned from one tiptoe to the other. With her already prominent chest protruding into the air before her, her hair cascading off the back of her head, her face a picture of sweet torture, she was certainly a sight.

Arms reaching their pinnacle just behind her head, she gasped, and like a puppet with its strings cut, collapsed into a lifeless pile of post back-stretching goo in her chair.

The normal din of clubroom activities came to a grinding halt.

Hiruma's eyes scanned the room, watching the train wreck of emotions on his teammate's faces. Monta was about to die of severe blood loss, Sena wasn't sure whether to be embarrassed for her or at himself, Yukimitsu and the Ha-Brothers couldn't hide their tomato blushes no matter how hard they tried. Even Musashi turned away before trying to casually pick his ears.

An AK-47 hit the table; the quarterback's right foot following it. He leered at his damn teammates. "Need a break, damn manager?" he drawled, giving the other boys a pointed look. The manager in question stifled a yawn before glaring at the spikey-haired boy.

"That's not my name, Hiruma-kun." She stood to face him, but rolled a shoulder instead, "I just need to stretch my legs for a minute and I'll be fine." Upon hearing this, Monta swooned again. Hiruma scowled at him over her shoulder.

"Everyone outside; practice time! Damned Ha-Brothers, grab the monkey. I want 100 laps; don't come back until you're almost dead!"

"We're NOT BRO-…" Cut off by heavy gunfire, the boys made a hasty retreat for the field. A second volley of bullets followed them from the doorway, but the captain did not join his team immediately. He glanced back to find Mamori making a standing reach for her right ankle, too wrapped up in stretching her tired muscles to notice how high her skirt was riding up the back of her thighs. He chuckled to himself; for this he could be late to practice.

Omake:

He sighed and leaned against the doorframe, taking his sweet time to enjoy the view. "You know the Damned kiddies can't take it when you do that," he quietly told her backside. Still leaning, she peeked crookedly around her leg and smile sweetly.

"I know; but neither can you."


	2. Blackmail

02. Blackmail:

_That smirk of his only grew when she agreed to become the Devilbats' manager._

Hiruma Youichi always did just what he wanted to, just when he wanted to, just as he liked to do it. And with this firm resolve he conducted business, gained power and acclaim, and built an empire. It would have been surprising if he'd found love in any other way. Because of this:

She was never proposed to by him. No candlelit dinner, violins or bended knee. In the middle of July he bought her a white sundress and flew her to Hawaii. There must have been a service during the flight over the Pacific, because by the time they'd hit the beach she was his all over again, though this time it showed on paper.

She never received an engagement ring, because they'd never been engaged.

Only after she'd been hit on for the third time at a company dinner did she at last receive some small token from him. A gold band carried many words within its circular simplicity. One that, she quietly noted, was a pair with one fitting his own bony finger.

She'd never had to tell anyone that they were seeing each other, that they'd become an item or that they'd been wed; all of her closest friends just knew. Those who didn't simply assumed because, to anyone watching, it was quite obvious. The way he'd press his hand to the small of her back as they entered a room, lightly directing her toward the seat at his right hand. The way her eyes would soften at the corners because of it. It was hard to miss.

Anezaki Mamori took control of her little corner of the world with a mixture of chiding words and soft touches. "You catch more flies with honey than with vinegar" was a personal motto. It was in this manner that she had worked her way into the devil's heart.


	3. Words

03. Words:

_She felt that through every argument, every confrontation, every dispute she had with him, she might get to know him better._

"You shouldn't press him so hard, he could hurt himself!" Mamori cried, at last raising her voice in their latest argument. Frowning at her as he worked to add another weight to the running back's bar, the captain replied,

"A little weight won't kill him, damn manager. You've got to shred the muscle to build up new ones." He gave the small boy a withering look. The small boy appropriately gulped and squirmed under his gaze. "Besides, we've got to get him past 88lb if he's gonna be of any use on the field."

"He's the manager!" She pressed, "He isn't going to be lifting more than a box of videos for you!" The grunt of effort beside her turned her attention back to Sena, who was valiantly fighting to complete a third and fourth press with the heavy weights, no longer mindful of the pair quarreling above him. She watched him, then sighed, "How much should he be able to lift at his height and weight without injuring himself?"

Hiruma made no attempt to hide his smirk of triumph as he set up his own machine. "The normal bench press weight for him would be about 100-110lbs, but he could go higher if he tried." He considered his weights for a moment before reaching for another iron ring, "I could have stopped at 135lb but I've gotten up to 165lb so…"

She considered his words for a moment longer, then turned on her heel and scanned the room, "Does anyone else need help?" The quarterback's grin burned into her retreating back.

"You weren't in class last period, do you want my notes?" He looked up from his laptop to find her standing over him, her extended hand filled with neatly printed notes, freshly ripped by the look of their frayed edges. He continued to stare up at her until she waved them a bit, embarrassed, "Well? Even if you do have the entire faculty in your pocket, they'll still be sore with you if you fall behind."

He snorted and popped his gum at her, but took the pile from her, quickly leafing through them, pausing only slightly on pages with more text than others. He handed them back without looking up, returning to his work without another thought to the girl above him. She made a face,

"That's it? Scanning won't do you any good, you know. At least write some of it down before you forget." He glared at her from the corner of his eye,

" 'Two Japanese invasions of Korea and subsequent battles on the Korean peninsula took place during the years 1592-1598. Toyotomi Hideyoshi led the newly unified Japan into the first invasion (1592-1593) with the professed goal of conquering Korea, the Jurchens, Ming Dynasty China, and India. The second invasion (1594-1596) had no lofty goal of _world conquest_ and was aimed rather solely as a retaliatory offensive against the Koreans. The invasions are also known as…' "

He intoned, returning her notes verbatim into the open air. Mamori stood speechless beside him for a moment. He glanced up at her again, tapped his forehead twice, and returned to his work.

With the utterance of that final giggle, he decided that he just couldn't stand it anymore. "Do you have to pig out like that in here, damn manager? The smell's making me sick." Hiruma groused as the Devilbat's manager lifted the final pastry from its familiar yellow box. She ignored him, taking a large bite, not minding that the filling squeezed out from either side and stuck to her face, giving her a clown-like grin when she finally came up for air.

She wiped her mouth with a napkin and sucked a thumb for a moment, before acknowledging his request. "I'm nearly finished, and you know I don't 'pig out' Hiruma-kun." She smirked into her next, daintier nibble. "Oor jus' jealous cuz' Oooh haven' foun' a favorite food yet." He pretended to be bored and continued to type, trying not to let the smell of creampuff invade too far up his nose.

"It's pure sugar. Nothing of value in one of those." He continued to type, "If you've gotta chew on something in here, make it sugar-free, will ya?"

Finally finished with her treat, Mamori stood to clean up, collapsing the box as she walked it to the trashcan. "Like you're gum I'd assume? You're almost out; if I stop by the store what flavor would you like?"

Though his face spoke volumes on his dislike of being coddled, he curtly answered, "Melon. Or Sour Apple." She made a face at his choices.

"So sour!"

He grinned at her. "I like it to bite back."


	4. Summary

04. Summary

_Even though the girl he prefers is a girl he can use (also the type of girl fitted to be a manager) he couldn't think of another word to describe her._

Looking up from his laptop, "Hey damn manager, where are…."

"Stop calling me that!" Sick to the teeth with her oh-so-inspiring 'nickname', Anezaki Mamori interrupted him, clutching her clipboard and eyeing the blond menacingly. "I have a name you know, why can't you just call me Anezaki-san? Mamori-kun at the least."

Hiruma eyed her for a moment, then smirked rather rudely. "Can't stand to be the Damn Manager anymore? Well then." He took time to lean back comfortably in his chair. "Let's see….what else to call you…." he grinned, tossing out a few options, "Fucking cream-puff, Annoying woman, Art school flunkie, Fucking mother hen," he counted off names on the tips of his long fingers, "Damned snacker, Fucking know-it-all, Analogue Only, Fucking apple polisher."

Though Mamori looked ready to kill he continued, looking at her sideways, eyes glittering with amusement," Neat Freak, Scrubbers, Mop Top, Cosplayer, Damn eye-candy, Satake-Yamaoka Bait. Do any of those better suit your tastes?" Mute with anger she stood, beet red, trying desperately to find something, anything to throw back at him that he wouldn't take as a complement.

Hiruma stood and, taking his sweet time, slowly stepped into her personal space. Head cocked and grinning, he looked perfectly vicious. "Perhaps you like those names better? But, maybe they were too mean; hmmm?" She pursed her lips, eyes flaming, but again she could produce no sound. Youichi's smile turned frightfully pleasant. He patted her on the shoulder, "Alright then, I'll be nice from now on, okay? And if you like, I won't yell when I talk to you, either. I'll speak in whispers, just for you, and just call you…" he leaned in close, just inches from her right ear, "Mamori." He could feel her tremble.

Throat frozen, Mamori could only stare wide-eyed into the open air. She clutched her mop to her like a lifeline, blushing furiously. "No comment? You're making this very hard, you know." The Spartan captain straightened, shrugging the moment off, as if he'd just given up trying to remember something unimportant. Heading back to his seat he continued, "Guess you're gonna be stuck with Damn Manager until I find something more descriptive. Now," he crossed a leg over the other, returning to his work, "Where's that report on Ojou you were getting me?"


	5. Roses

05. Roses:

_Ponytails can be almost as dangerous as guns, especially when worn by a certain brown-haired manager._

He knew not to speak with her when she was like this. Just stay out of her way, don't antagonize her; it would be over when it was over and he would just have to deal with it for a while. It was one of the few times she would really put her foot down and demand something of him, and he supposed the task she had in mind was useful in its own way, so he often let the insubordination slide. Watching her on her knees in those rubber gloves, up to her elbows in suds with wisps of hair falling in her face was, as he had learned, only the prelude to the afternoon's activities.

He'd look up from his laptop from time to time to watch her scurry about the room, washing jerseys or carrying piles out to the line she'd somehow convinced him to set up for her. With all the work she seemed to find herself, it was a wonder to imagine that she had time for her other club duties at all. It had been a mistake, he now knew, that time he had tried to "recruit" help for her. After an hour of mop waving and vicious words he'd washed his hands of the matter, though somehow sure she was pleased with him for offering. Stupid mind tricks.

She would be onto folding as the light began to fade. HE would invariably find himself being shooed away from his table, a table built for plays and strategies, and exiled to the couch as she dumped piles of sun dried clothes onto her newly conquered workspace. She would hum a quiet tune to herself, one that never failed to revisit him later in the evening after she had left him. Again he would occasionally peek at her, long fingered hands removing themselves from the worn fabric to instead beat back the hair she had been fighting against all day. A clip would appear from nowhere to hold her auburn locks at bay, and when this happened his hands would slow in response, too caught up was he in the shape of her now lightly tanned neck for any serious work to get done.

Her final act would always end in a sigh of contentment as she exited the locker room, having finally replaced each and every well laundered towel, jersey, and stray sock into its rightful cubby. She would scan the room she had clearly held dominion over for the past few hours; already spotless, but nonetheless deserving of a final once over. "I'm finished, Hiruma-kun. All the laundry is done, the room is finally clean, everything has been put away, and… have I forgotten anything?" Then she would wait for him to speak, a telltale sign that he was now allowed his clubroom back. He, in return, would pause and wait the appropriate amount of time to ensure that her cleaning streak had indeed come to a complete end, before lazily pointing out,

"You missed a spot."


	6. Visualize

I own neither Eyesh nor Avatar but wish dearly that I did. Avatar is included because I needed an old fart song. I hearts Iro to pieces!

6. Visualize:

_On his way home, Doburoku could have sworn that he saw two very familiar people leaning forward outside the dark club room but he quickly dismissed it as him being drunk._

"Winter Spring, Summer and Fall,

Winter Spring, Summer and Faaa!

Ah! Watch it, watch it." The old man chided himself, "No good to be caught drunk on school property, even _IF_ your team's going to the Kanto Tournament." Doburoku hiccupped as he slowly picked his way across the grounds. Luckily there was just enough moon left to see by; but even then, after six (or was it seven?) jugs of his best stuff, progress was slow. It seemed as if every tree had raised its roots in front of him, and he was positive there were more buildings than usual that night, too.

He squinted into the darkness, and was pleaded to finally make out the sign above the clubhouse; if he could make it to the field beyond it would be a straight shot home. Taking a moment to steady himself on a building he chuckled, "At least _THIS_ wall hasn't gone anywhere. S'just a rest; just a rest before I head out."

With a sloppy push he was off again. Nope, back on the wall, up, up again and no, no good. He slid his back down the wall, janitor keys jingling, and wondered briefly who to blame for the lights dancing in his eyes. "Oh well." He popped the stopper out of the jug in his hand and prepared for another swig when, through his fog, he saw the clubhouse door open.

Two figures emerged, and though the lights blinked out a moment later, he was sure it was the captain and his manager. 'Pfff. **His** manager. 'Methinks the Lady Doth Protest Too Much,' the trainer thought, tilting his head to watch. 'Oops, she dropped her keys. Nice of him to pick them up for her, never mind; he's playing keep-away with her. What is he, five? Too the leeeffftt… to the rriiiggght…..Boy she looks mad! He's at least a head taller than her; she'll never reach them if he raises them up high like…"

The ex-runner rubbed his tired eyes, blinked, and took a drink. He peered at the darkness where the pair had just stood. Speaking to no one he stared at the sky, "Kami, I have got to quit drinking."


	7. Alteration

07. Alteration:

_When she had to pretend she was "evil" during the Sport's Day, she actually kind of liked it; it was nice to be in his shoes for once._

It was hot, and the skirt's satin lining kept sticking to her sweating skin. Whenever she turned her head, the coat's fir trim would stick in her too-noticeable shade of lipstick. She knew for a fact that she'd never be able to walk for more than an hour in the heels he'd brought for her. And she was quite sure that a high-schooler could indeed die of embarrassment on any given school day.

As she tugged at her clothes for the umpteenth time, Mamori played with the idea of locking herself into the clubhouse she was currently taking refuge in. Her hopes died quickly; she didn't think she would survive the artillery strike he would loose on the door trying to get her out. Helping the team learn a new technique had sounded like a great idea at first, but the enthusiastic manager had forgotten to 'let the other shoe drop' before agreeing to anything her devilish classmate proposed.

Bony knuckles banged on the clubhouse door, causing a small shriek and a break in escape plan train-of-thought. "Hiruma-kun?" She began, hoping he couldn't hear her teeth chattering, "I don't think I can do this. I mean, Mean isn't my strong suit. Maybe I can put a call into Ojou, see if there's anyone who wants to come over and give us a hand. Doburoku-sensei's sober today isn't he? Can't we just make Cerberus do it?"

But the blond would hear nothing of the sort. "Kekeke! The entire student body is in attendance, all assembled for the rigorous physical challenges of a public school field day, and there's not a cloud in the sky. You're public awaits," his slippery voice crooned through the door, "Don't forget to smile!"

In a flash she'd flung herself at the door, nearly ripping the poor thing off its hinges in her attempt to catch him, but he was too far off for reasoning quietly with. She nearly ran after the blond, but still couldn't make herself cross the threshold and out into public in her present state of ridiculous. Mamori turned her back on the open door, willing it to cloud over and typhoon so she didn't have to go out. She bit her lip and turned around again; the team needed her, and as their manager she'd made a committment to help them however she could. But not like this!

Her mental anguish continued until she became aware of the rut she'd worn into the doorway from turning in place. "What am I, Taki-kun?" She blanched at the mental image then was jarred back into motion as the ground suddenly shook with a not-too-far-off boom. "A no. 96 grenade in such a densly populated area? What is he thinking?" Was her first thought, followed closely with, "Waah! Why do I _KNOW_ that?" Another boom, this one closer. The brunette braced herself on the doorframe until the rumbling stopped. He was coming back to fetch her, not a good sign.

"Oohhh!" She stamped her foot, wishing she had something heavy to throw when he arrived, "He makes me so crazy sometimes!...Hey, I can use that." Within seconds, Anezaki Mamori's face lit up in what her classmates would from then on refer to in whispers as her best devil-induced insane grin.

Hiruma turned the corner supporting a bazooka over one shoulder. The scowl he'd been sporting dissolved into a toothy grin at the sight of her. "Took you long enough, Damned Manager."

Mamori squared her shoulders authoritatively and head held high, strode out of the clubhouse. Her smirk was like lightning. "Ready to inflict some mental trauma?"


	8. Layer

She's too strong to cry as much as this implies, so I'll have her discover things about her self instead.

08. Layer:

_Youichi Hiruma was like an onion; every new, uncovered coating only brought her more tears._

There was something funny about that captain of hers. Somehow, among the drills and practice, the name calling and the battles, she found herself learning new things, things that had nothing to do with American Football.

She'd never directed such a white-hot rage at anyone so pig-headed before, and certainly never had the urge to stuff a sock into someone's dangerously pointy mouth to shut them up before either.

Before she'd read the rule book cover to cover, she'd never had nights of nervous exhaustion like those before a big game, or been consumed by the roar of the crowd and the taste of a come-from-behind victory.

Her life had been sweet and normal, even a little mundane in its near decade of routine schoolwork, student committee meetings, and caring for little Sena.

She'd never felt as free (or as mortified) as she had when waving a shotgun around on school grounds. And she still wasn't sure whether to be insulted, or mildly flattered, at having her every move photographed and cataloged.

Until she first heard him groan from exhaustion, she never knew she could be smug. Smiling to herself in a sideways fashion, she doubted anyone else, even Kurita or Musashi, heard sounds like that from him.

Her poker face was improving, probably from being forced to deal for him a few times too often. It came in handy though. Even with his hand under her shirt, pressing softly on the small of her back, she learned she could put on a carefree face when the boys walked in from practice.

The new way her mind was being stretched each afternoon was showing up on morning exams. All those circles and exes were improving her art skills, if only a little.

Her mind raced. Has it really only been a year…?

A hand in the darkness reached for her shoulder, shaking it slightly as a hazy voice whispered, "You still up? Go to sleep already, Damned Manager."

She smiled lazily and pushed the thoughts aside, rolling over toward the warm body next to her.

For a moment, her smirk returned. Come to think of it, this was pretty new too.


	9. Quiescent

09. Quiescent:

_The first time she saw him sleeping, after the 2000km run in the death march, was the first time she saw a peaceful expression on his face, in spite of him cradling a gun close to him._

Night was long underway when Mamori at last stepped out of what had to have been the coldest shower she had ever taken. She rubbed her hair with a towel as she left her room, rationalizing to herself that all she'd done in those 2000km was cook and pass out water for the team, so she supposed they could take all the hot water just this once.

The girl was glad for having the foresight to get a keycard for every room; she yawned but began her sweep, silently peeking in on the sleepers in 201. One bed frame cried piteously as Kurita rolled in his sleep. Juumonji and Kuroki fought for blankets in the second bed, determinedly faced away from each other, stretching the sad little blanket between them like a child's play fort. Komusubi and Togano had smartly opted for the short couches at the foot of each of the two double beds. She smiled warmly and then quietly moved on, like a parent doing the final lock up for the night, to check on the others in 203.

Though he was normally a very easygoing boy, she was sure she'd seen Yukimitsu kick Taki in the back, knocking the blond to the floor as she looked in, then tried not to giggle as the watched him snuggle down further into the now empty bed. The jack-of-all-trades tight end didn't so much as blink (for he was used to such abuse) and continued his unconscious kick routine on the floor. In the next bed Sena clung to a pillow near the headboard, crumpled into an unhappy ball, giving Monta as much sprawl-room as possible.

Sliding the card for 202, the Devilbats manager was displeased to find their coach (and only chaperone) missing, but supposed it couldn't be helped. She closed the door again and hoped he'd make it back relatively sober by morning.

Much as she relished the thought of heading back to her room with Suzuna and finally sliding into her own bed, there was one more room to check. She eased the door to 205 open a crack, making sure she wasn't going to disturb Cerberus, and quietly peeked inside. The Commander of Hell, the demon king of Deimon High, the threatbook-wielding extortionist known and hated throughout the Kanto Area and beyond, was out cold on the still-made bed, breathing even, one arm curled possessively around a submachine gun. He'd never taken his shoes off, made no attempt to get changed or even find a more comfortable position before he collapsed; and for that the girl smiled at him. He'd worked the team hard those last hundred miles, but as always he'd been hardest on himself.

Checking and seeing he was in fact in his room should have fulfilled all of her mother-hen obligations towards the team and their captain, but despite herself she leaned into the doorway a bit more. She could just make out his face in the darkness, and was surprised to find a fairly peaceful look on the blond's face. Not a happy sleeping-smile though, more like sleep had taken the tension from his face, leaving his expression softer somehow, despite his angular appearance.

Cerberus gave a tired growl from somewhere beyond him, displeased with her late-night intrusion, but the boy on the bed slept on. Trying to take his shoes from him would probably wake him; even stepping in to throw a blanket over him seemed a chancy move, so she was forced to simply stand there a minute more, taking stock of the room and its contents before finally closing the heavy door as silently as she could. And again, the boy slept on.

Omake:

His throwing arm flexed, drawing his weapon closer. His face mashed itself just a few inches farther into the blankets, forcing sound from his lungs to the silent night air, "Dm' ma…."


	10. Time

Nobody seems to be online this week, so here's an old ficclet that I'm not terribly proud of.

10. Time:

_He spent countless hours trying to find the perfect outfit for her to wear to the Deimon Sports Day._

"Hmmm…Full armor?" *scratch* "She'd look like she was from Damn Ojo." *Scribblescribblescribble* "Amazon? No, That's powerful but it won't get those damn brats motivated to win like I want." Another crumpled ball of paper made a perfect arc into the now full trashcan.

"Yakuza? I'd never get a big paint-on tattoo like that to last all day, and I doubt she's the type to walk around in a torso wrap all day at school… maybe Damn Skates would help her with that…" _**I'd**__ be willing to help…FOCUS! _

The whole notepad made its way to the trash this time. He furrowed his brows, fingers to his temples, a new idea forming. "Not yakuza, maybe more Godfather; American Gangster. A mafia boss's lady…"

Shots rang out from inside the clubhouse, as well as a particularly enthusiastic, "Ya-Ha!" Mamori paused, turning, arms full of water bottles and a frown marring her face. She thought briefly that it was odd for Hiruma to be working in the clubhouse during practice, but shrugged and headed for the field to set up the next drills.


	11. Judgematic

11. Judgematic:

_She always carried a first-aid kit with her because you never know when he, another teammate or some poor, random stranger on the street, was going to get injured from one of his crazy training sessions._

"Ow!" the startled first-years looked to Togano. With the second-years at an assembly, the thought of an afternoon of lounging was too great a temptation; and so the rest of the team was given the rare opportunity to relax in a comfortable silence. Juumonji looked up from his place in the corner, perturbed at having his nap interrupted, "What?"

"Paper cut," Togano gave the offending finger a squeeze, "pretty good one too." The slice turned red as blood escaped, beading in the center.

"Gross! Don't bleed on me, you douche!" Kuroki reeled back from the table as Togano leered, leaning over the table to push the offending finger in his friend's face.

At the sight of said finger, Suzuna jumped up from her seat on the couch. "You're bleeding? Sena!" The boy beside her jumped, "Get Mamo-nee's first-aid kit for me." Though still startled, Sena nodded and headed for the locker room. Togano's hand was roughly pulled from Kuroki's face to be inspected. Suzuna assessed the damage. Once Sena had rounded the corner, she was ready.

"Tweezers," she ordered, then, feeling the weight of them in her open palm, "Cotton ball." Dutifully, Sena held the bottle out to her. She swiftly extracted a ball and set to work cleaning out the cut. Togano was at the cheerleader's mercy as she called out, "Anteseptic," and finally, "band-aid."

After securing both flaps down carefully, Togano was finally allowed his hand back. He looked at her work carefully; the way in which he turned his finger showed everyone watching that having his scrapes and cuts bandaged by another was a foreign concept. Kuroki snickered, but was silenced by an eye from Togano. A red blush betrayed his gruff, "Thanks."

While Sena disposed of the cotton ball and band-aid wrappings, Suzuna made herself comfortable at the head of the table, dragging the first-aid kit towards her. She worked to replace the cotton balls, but found herself removing the boxes' contents in the process. It held the usual for a football player's everyday needs, gauze, tape and antiseptic. But in the compartment below she found a sewing kit, butterfly stitches, a pair of socks, some coverup, and what looked like every size and shape bandage on the market.

"Wow, Mamori-san's got that thing packed-max." Monta, mid-reach for one of Komusubi's cards, commented from the other end of the table. Sena turned back toward the group, smiling shyly, as if it were his own box he was defending,

"She likes to be prepared for anything."

"But look at all this," Suzuna gestured at the little box, "What about the sewing kit? What needs fixing so often that she'd keep… are those scraps of uniform in here?" She tossed a swatch of green fabric toward the boys. Sena looked even more nervous,

"Well, she's been fixing torn uniforms since we were kids, so…"

Suzuna's keen eye saw this flustering, "There's more, isn't there Sena?"

Six pairs of eyes assaulted the runningback, turning him scarlet. "W-well… it's just that… Mamori-neechan, she's kinda, sort of a…."

"Spill!" Komusubi barked.

"She's a klutz!" Sena choked; the secret was out. "She's constantly tripping over her own two feet. She runs into stuff and drops nearly everything she holds at least once." He stared at his classmates, "Please don't tell her I told you! She's very sensitive about it, that's why you never see her do it; she's usually so careful when other people are around."

Before even the first guffaw was heard, the door opened. The second-years filed in, Yuki and Kurita grimacing as they hurried inside, hoping to escape the growing argument on the doorstep. "I can't believe you did that!"

Despite the tongue-lashing Mamori was dealing out, the blond quarterback kept his smug grin. "Don't know what you're talking about, damned manager. I didn't do anything to the principal during the assembly."

"Maybe not _during_, but before it started you could have…" Her comment was cut short by a shriek as the manager's toe caught the table leg. She pitched forward, falling to the floor with a small *whummph*. Despite the good upbringings of the present company, the small room dissolved quickly into gales of laughter.

That is, until they heard their captain snort as well.

All sound died in the room, the team held a collective breath, watching the blond tyrant offer a hand to their bruised and pouting manager. "God, you're such a klutz."

Very suddenly the room was once again filled with noise; Monta resumed his game with relish, Komusubi Hngoh-ing merrily. Sena busied himself with returning the medicine kit to the locker room, while Togano launched into a very loud explanation of his latest JUMP chapter. It was a silent agreement between the first-years; singling one friend out was unforgivable, because they all had secrets to keep from Him.

Omake:

"What's damned chinfuzz doing on the floor?" Hiruma gave the leggy boy a nudge.

"Yaaa, stupid brother," Suzuna sighed, grabbing her elder brother by the armpits and propping him up by the wall, "He doesn't do blood very well. Goes down like a sack of stones. I always have to clean it up before he sees it, or out he goes." Juumonji and Kuroki exchanged looks, then looked to their fallen comrade. Canceling JUMP couldn't have created a more crestfallen face. Kuroki gave him a reassuring pat on the back. "Sorry dude." Juumonji shook his head, "Maybe next time."


	12. Stumped

12. Stumped:

_Despite being the genius extraordinaire that he is, he couldn't quite figure out why a package of sugarless gum was in his locker._

"Ah…Monta-kun, what's Hiruma-san doing? Is there something wrong with his locker?"

"Dunno, but he's been staring at it for a while now."

"Hnngoh! Changed!"

"Changed? He hasn't gotten changed yet. Maybe he can't decide on what to wear."

"But all his clothes are black, right? Can't be that hard to just pick something."

"Ah-Ha-Ha! Hiruma-san may be having problems choosing, but I have a 150% success rate in selecting fashionable daytime-wear!"

"Maybe it's between his uniform and his regular clothes. Ah, Juumonji-san."

"Different! Hnngoh!"

"Haa? Maybe some of his stuff's missing."

"Can't see how, everyone's go clean towels an' jerseys an' stuff."

"Haaaah? I'm surprised you noticed, you're nose is so far into that manga I'd swear you saw in black and white."

"Ha? You wanna start somethin'?"

"Hmmm? I don't remember seeing that gum in there when we got changed."

"Yuki-san! Did you and Kurita-san get everything back to the equipment shed?"

"Yes. Doburoku-sensei hopes a lot of little sprints and light weights will help with my endurance training. Kurita-san should be right behind me, ah! Kurita-san."

"You guys aren't changed yet? What's the matter?"

"Kurita-san, what do you think is wrong with Hiruma-san; he just keeps staring at the gum in his locker."

"Yeah, suspicious MAX if you ask me."

"Hey Sena-kun, wasn't Hiruma-san out of gum earlier today? He had me looking around the bench for an extra pack at practice."

"Hiruma, anything wrong?"

"Get changed and go home ya damned brats! Or do you want to go back to practice for the next eight hours? I said, GET!"

"Eeeeehhh!"

"Mukyaaaa! We're going, we're GOING!"

Omake:

"Che, fucking chibis."

Hiruma reached into his locker to retrieve the gum in question. Taking a piece, he paused to let the gum work it's magic, feeling his mind slowing from its normal frantic pace as he chewed thoughtfully. He changed quickly, popping a bubble or two as he went, before straightening and turning for the door.

"Now, where'd that damn manager get to?"


	13. Dreams

13. Dreams:

_If she laid on her bed and closed her eyes, she somehow is able to recall that one time he smiled – not one of his evil smirks or insane grins, but a normal smile._

Mamori dropped her bag and fell back into her plush pillows, sighing heavily, happy to be off her feet for the first time that day. She'd been run through the school three times over, sent to copying rooms, the library, and to picked equipment up from the film club, each time returning to the clubhouse to assist the team Captain with the compiling of yet another game's footage.

She'd spent hours compiling data, filing away all the little quirks and eccentricities of the opposing teams, all on the slim chance that they would somehow provide just the spark of inspiration needed for that game-winning turnaround. Her back ached from the odd height of the table, and her eyes were aching from their dimly lit clubhouse. She fingered the band-aid on her hand absentmindedly, wondering when she'd even had _time_ to stab herself with that pencil. She wondered for just a moment, why she would put herself through such torture; before a secretive smile crept onto her face.

It didn't always happen, but if she cleaned up quickly enough, and reorganized her notes, and handed all of the day's findings over to him, it would happen. It was then, with her hand on the partially open door, she could turn her head back just a bit to see him look over the data she'd compiled…and smile. It was an excited, eager, slightly murderous smile; one that she was sure he only let her see. She rolled onto her side, trying to regain her composure, but failed miserably. So instead she chuckled, taking a few more seconds to the warm feeling spreading outward from her horribly romantic heart. It was a sight she'd gladly go through Hell for. And thankfully, she knew she'd go through just that on a regular basis.


	14. Regulations

14. Regulations:

_Cerberus only allowed Hiruma to scratch him behind his ears; his favorite place to be scratched; however, lately, he is opted to allow her to do the same._

Pop!

A startled Mamori glanced up to find the Devilbat's captain, hands in pockets, holding a plastic grocery bag. He stared down to her, crouched beside Cerberus's doghouse, busily giving the pooch a good scratch behind the ears. The boy was silent, and watched pensively for a moment. Feeling his eyes on her, Mamori's hand slowed. The dog, realizing her attention was elsewhere, gave a rumbly growl and trotted off.

"He'll let you do that?" Hiruma asked, breaking the quiet moment.

"Well he's always let me pet him," she started, "But I think I'm getting away with a bit more these days."

The quarterback began a new bubble and continued walking, dropping the bag beside her, spilling its contents of flea powder and shampoo. "If you can get away with all that, the damned mutt could use a bath."


	15. Pride

Don't think too much about the prompt.

I didn't like the direction it was going in, but I still wanted to do something with the death march.

15. Pride:

_He absolutely refuses to let her bandage his bruised knee because it showed weakness and it was the last thing he wanted to show her._

_Blue? Blue is definitely not his color. If he was paying attention when he put it on…, _

_It should be red, a red slash covering each cheekbone. It'd make his eyes stand out. More than they already do, I mean. Bright green eyes with red and ooooh, all those blond spikes falling from their hold into his eyes. He's covered with sweat, and it's dripping down his neck and disappearing under his tee shirt. How can he wear that black shirt in this weather? He must be sweltering. I wonder if he'll take it off. Mmmmmmmnnn. _

_But if he's sweating that much his war pain will run. I'll have to make sure it's red this time. A dot here, a jagged line there, until I finally give up and pour the whole thing on him, slide my hands around in it, making patterns on his chest with big gobs of paint. I'd grind it into that white flesh of his 'till it'd take a week in the tub to get it out again, smoothing it down his arms and up around his shoulders, up his neck, to his stomach and into his navel and after that…_

"Mamori-san, are those water bottles hot yet?" Doburoku called over a shoulder. The manager froze, back straight as a rod, flabbergasted with herself and the lascivious thoughts her mind was conjuring. She fanned herself with a hand and set to her task, blaming the Texas heat.

A/N: Please pull out a copy and look for these two panels of gooooooddddnnneeessss.


	16. Gentleman

16. Gentleman:

_He once kicked-opened a door for her (someone annoying was on the other side of the door)._

"Wait for me, please!" Mamori puffed, trotting awkwardly behind the captain, arms full of binders, notebooks and play cards for the meeting. The stairs to the classroom that held their TV had caused her to drop her load once before, breaking the box that her supplies had originally been loaded into. Hiruma glanced over his shoulder and made a face, but shortened his stride to allow her time to get a better grip.

He stopped just short of the door, watching her totter down the hall, vision obscured by supplies she insisted on carrying herself. She absolutely refused to let him help, despite the fact that he had a perfectly good arm to work with. The manager had been surprised that he didn't put up a better argument about it when they first left the club room, but had smartly kept that thought to herself. He turned toward the door where the team was already assembled, if the noise escaping from under the door was any indication of its contents.

She eventually caught up, shuffling her armload to balance it precariously on one arm, reaching the other to open the door. "Anezaki." Hearing him speak her name like that, Mamori froze. She took a step back from where she thought the voice had come from. The sudden sound of a heel connecting with wood made her jump, nearly loosing her pile.

"Both hands on that; I don't want it hitting the deck again." Obediently she took a firmer hold on her load and waited. Hiruma entered the room, ignoring Monta's loud complaining at being assaulted with a door. "Coming?"

She blinked, falling out of a daydream, and followed him through the open door.


	17. Fear

17. Fear:

_After watching Banba and now Kid being overwhelmed by Gaō, she couldn't help but wonder what she would do if it was him being crushed to the ground._

The thought made her queasy; her stomach would churn angrily at the briefest hint of it. She tried not to imagine him lying there in the grass, right arm twisted unnaturally, bone protruding from too pale skin, the blood frighteningly visible on an already red jersey. But when chores had been finished, and the plays had been decided upon and the videos had been turned off for the night, whenever she was left alone at the bench for too long, the thoughts would return. Her mind would construct the most frightening scenarios for her to watch on the inside of her eyelids, like her own personal horror movie.

Suzuna would find her on the sidelines sometimes, doused in a cold sweat, clutching her clipboard like a life-raft, staring unblinking toward center field where he stood. Sena would turn back to her on their walk home to find her two steps behind, eyes wide with fright at yet another terrifying conception. More often than not she would scurry off, muttering a poor excuse and apologizing for worrying them. Hours later they would find her immersed in research materials.

She thought if she could find the perfect play, discover in the hours she spent in front of the videos of previous games and recorded data, she would find one piece of the puzzle necessary to keep him safe. Even though she knew that American football was a brutal sport, and that he'd never listen even if she told him, begged, pleaded, cried for him to be careful out there. Then, when it grew dark, and she listened to that deep-down tiny voice saying that he wouldn't walk away from this; she would shake her head clear and try to hope.

Maybe it would just come down to chance out there on that big green field, but despite that fact, she searched; because searching helped the worrying. Because searching was better than doing nothing, searching would hold her at bay for a day longer. Until the Christmas Bowl.


	18. Loathing

18. Loathing:

_There were a lot of things he hated: losing, ending a game in a tie, Agon, having his plans foiled, idiots who don't do as they're told, his guns running out of bullets, running our of sugarless gum and so on, but it surprised him to find that he came to like her fragrance of vanilla and peaches._

Something was wrong. Hiruma gazed out over his laptop, eying his teammates suspiciously. They sat in the clubhouse, huddled groups of two and three, desperately trying to memorize pass routes for their upcoming game.

Again a feeling of unease flooded over him. He watched Mamori flit about the small room, passing out drinks to the boys, flanked by her cheerleading companion. She headed for the back, her skirt brushing his arm as she went. The scent of strawberries overwhelmed him. He coughed loudly, choking on the scent.

"Oh god It's you!" He stood; pointing an accusatory finger into Mamori's shocked face.

She blinked, "Ah…Me?"

"Yes you!" He barked, clutching a hand to his face, "What the hell happened to you since yesterday?"

Mamori stared at the blond, still as confused as the rest of her teammates, "I had a sleepover with Emi and Sara. Why? What's wrong?"

"You smell like a damned Ice Cream parlor, that's what's wrong!" Hiruma took a step back, holding his nose.

"I took a shower!" Mamori cried indignantly, mindless of her teammates beside her, "Sara uses Strawberry shampoo. And who are you to say that I stink, Mr. There's-no-need-to-put-a-shower-in-the-locker-room?"

The inhabitants of the room shrank back as the blond abruptly grinned, "So you're saying the next time I get the principal to front us another addition, we should put in a shower? Didn't know you thought so highly of my renovation plans, damned manager."

"I said nothing of the sort, and you know it," She flung back at him, reddening, "I just don't think you're allowed to comment on how I smell. You're the one overreacting to a little change in shampoo."

"It's hanging off you like an atomic pink mushroom cloud. Damned Skates!" Suzuna jumped, suddenly included in the quarrel, "Lend the manager something and send her to the showers, will ya?"

Before Mamori could stop her, Suzuna grabbed her bag and began to push the taller girl from the building, "Suzuna-chan, no! I don't have to! Wait! It's none of his! Arrrgh!" The door slammed shut, leaving the boys in a thick uncomfortable silence. Hiruma waved a hand, dispersing the strawberry cloud, then returned to his work, taking no notice of his teammate's shocked faces.

The Devilbats set back to work, none mentioning just how frightened they were. Not by their captain's outburst of course, but because of how normal days like this felt.


	19. Wild

He saw her differently…

19. Wild:

_Most people come to see Mamori as a quiet, sweet, sensible, motherly type of girl - too bad those people never saw her cheering and jumping at a football game._

Taki Suzuna reached for the clubhouse door just in time to watch the door wrenched open and expell her best friend from the Amefuto clubroom. She winced at the sound of the door as it rattled on its hinges, catching the sight of Mamori calling over her shoulder, "We'll see about that!" before storming off from direction from which she'd just come. The dark haired girl nervously entered the dim room to the much more tame sight of Hiruma pouring over a set of files at the play table.

You-nii," the cheerleader leveled her gaze on what was most obviously the cause of her friend's stress, "You should be nicer to Mamo-nee."

"Nicer." The blond in question scoffed, not pausing to look up from his paperwork.

It was this utterance that demoted the Devilbat's quarterback from co-conspirator to simple harassor in the cheerful girl's mind. From her perspective, it was just so clear; These Devil Bats were going to bring her friend to ruin one of these days. And You-nii, was nothing but trouble. Mamo-nee deserved better. The petite girl was determined to point that very fact out to him, in as simple of girl terms as she was able, "You're always yelling at her."

Clearly trying to ignore the conversation, Hiruma turned in his chair and made a grand show of studying his play materials. He squinted at the photo in his hand, turning it up to the light, "I yell at everybody."

Suzuna scowled, undeterred, "But you're always fighting over plays, _and_ tactics, _and_ strategies, and the over the health of the team, who I'm nearly convinced you're trying to kill as near train them."

Still ignoring,Hiruma scribbled a note in the file, "If she had nothing to offer, I'd just ignore her."

"She took on all the chores for the deathmarch," she countered. "Do you know how hard it is to cook for a team of growing boys in the desert with nothing but a cast-iron skillet and a ladel?"

"The ol' geezer can't boil rice without burning half of it. It'd be a waste of food to let him near anything but that big-ass truck of his."

The cheerleader heaved a dramatic sigh and leaned on his table, "You're not getting it, You-nii." Her eyes turned unnaturally dewy, " Girls love to be treated like princesses, to be given presents, to be spoken softly to. To… to win most arguments!"

"But _she_ doesn't." The sudden appearance of his green eyes from behind a file stopped her. His voice left no room for doubt. "If all that were true, don't you think she would have fallen for any one of this school's smooth-talkers? Would she even be on this team if she hadn't refused to back down over her little puppy pipsqueak playing football?" Suzuna remained silent, listening intently to the reassessment of her friend.

"She's bossy, she's opinionated, and she's the only person who's constantly ready for a knock-down drag-out fight with someone the entire student body is convinced is Satan incarnate. She's not some princess, fucking Skates. She needs to fight, to stretch her brain with plays and strategies, to play 'mommy Wendy' with her eleven lost boys. She's one of the Devilbats because she needs… stimulation."

Despite the unexpected assessment of their team's manager, Suzuna gave the blond a dubious look, "So you stimulate her mentally?"

Hiruma turned back to his work, leering at the file in his hand, "If she _weren't_ so smart, I'd have stimulated her six ways to Sunday by now." Suzuna threw a pompom at his head.

Omake:

Hands full of copied pages, Mamori reached for the clubroom door just in time to watch her best friend storm out, calling over her shoulder, "You-nii you're terrible!" With a quizzical look and a spare thumb she gestured to her retreating friend,

"What's up with her?"


	20. Eternal

20. Eternal:

_She never drew hearts for him, only circles, because hearts can be broken while circles can go on forever._

"Mamo-nee? Good, I found you," Suzuna called as she glided into the club house. Mamori paused in her cleaning as the girl approached,

"What do you need Suzuna-chan?"

The cheerleader dropped her bag to the table and began rifling through it for the homework she was going to ask about. As she worked, a breeze from the door caught a stray page. It danced for a moment, then fluttered, unnoticed, to the floor beside her.

Hating to see her nice clean floor covered once again with clutter, Mamori crouched down to retrieve it. The original English notes had been forgotten after a few lines; instead both sides had been covered with doodles of planets, stars, and Devilbats wings. Sena's name came up more than once, and Mamori frowned a bit when she noticed it had been circled each time it was written.

"I've got some math homework tonight that I tried doing at lunch, but I'm stumped, you see," Suzuna spoke into her bag as she continued her search, "I was hoping you could, There it is!" With a tug, she unearthed the page and held it out for the older girl, "Help me figure it out; Please?"

Mamori took her work and smoothed it out on the table, "Of course I'll help Suzuna-chan, but," She held up the stray doodle page, "tell me this first: Why circle Sena's name? Why not hearts instead?" Suzuna blushed, but instead of spending time denying Mamori's implication, she merely looked at her skates and said, "I never draw hearts because hearts can break, but a circle can go on forever. I know it's really middle-school sounding," Suzuna stared up at her, still red-faced, "But that's what I think."

Mamori turned her attentions to the doodle page, cocked her head to the side, and held the scrap paper at arms length, examining it closely. Satisfied with her friend's answer, she looked to Suzuna and smiled, "I like it." She handed the page back, "Circles for Sena. Now, let me see those problems…"

Omake:

The bathroom was still foggy from her bath when at last Mamori was ready for bed. She retrieved her toothbrush from the medicine cabinet and set to brushing, watching her blurry reflection mimic her slow circular strokes. She paused for a moment, chewing thoughtfully on the bristles, as her free hand traced characters across the foggy mirror. Working quickly so her strokes wouldn't run, she circled his name on the glass and giggled, but erased her charm with the corner of her towel, just before she turned off the light.


	21. Mark

21. Mark

_It was barely noticeable but Musashi saw a tiny, red smear on the corner of Hiruma's mouth when he went to practice one day._

"All right; Damn Fatty, Fatty Junior, and the damn Ha Brothers need to open a hole in the center for the pipsqueaks and Ishimaru to get through. They should spread out as they get through with the monkey following in the rear," Hiruma's teammates huddled on the sidelines as they looked over his model board, trying to learn their newest offensive move. A calloused finger was jabbed at Monta,

"Ishimaru and Eyeshield are running, but only to mess up the other team. Damned Chimp; run a hook and wait for me to send a short pass to you, think you can manage that?" Monta nervously gulped, but even under the quarterback's intense stare his nod was full of conviction-max. Satisfied, Hiruma turned next on Taki, who had surprisingly been concentrating intently on the play at hand.

"Damn Chinfuzz, I need you and Eyeshield on interference. Anything that comes near the damned monkey shouldn't; got it?" Turf flew up in tiny chunks as Taki's revolutions increased.

"A-Ha Ha! You have my 150% participation, Boss." The company groaned, but what with Taki being an idiot and all, no warning shots were fired in his direction.

Hiruma considered the board another moment, then straightened and took up a rifle. "If you've got all that then get on the field already, ya damn brats!" He shouted, loosing a barrel of buckshot in their direction. The boys scattered towards their positions, leaving the blond free to take one last glance at the board before stepping onto the field to join them.

"Hey." Hiruma stopped, turning back to look at his newly returned classmate. Gen dabbed his finger on the corner of his mouth, "You've got a little….yeah, you got it."

Omake:

The demon looked to his hand to find a smear of red on the tip of a finger. One would not be criticized for simply assuming (like most of his teammates had) that it was the blood of one of his many victims, but the truth was unfortunately far more mundane. "Damn manager; who the fuck wears lipstick to practice?"


	22. Kindness

22. Kindness:

_Through the corner of her eye, she saw him slip an ice cube into the melted, sugary water in Yukimitsu's bag and smiled._

Only after the thin boy had rested for a few minutes did Mamori allow Yukimitsu to join the party with the others. He stood slowly and gave a small bow to her, before heading over to get his own cup of shaved ice from Kurita. She smiled and stood, wiping her hands on her apron and heading to the table where Hiruma sat, busy disassembling his surveillance equipment. She passed behind him as she watched the other boys enjoy their treat, pausing only long enough to lean in over his shoulder and whisper, "I saw that."


	23. SelfControl

23. Self-control:

_Every time Monta flirted with her, he started yelling orders and firing at the nearest, unfortunate person; it wouldn't do the team any good if he killed their wide receiver._

"Oi, Sena." The runningback looked to the catcher jogging beside him.

"D'ja ever notice; whenever I'm nice to Mamori-san, those basketball fill-ins get shot at?"

Sena stared at his friend, wide eyed. "You think?"

"I'm serious! Watch: Mamori-saaaan!" both boys looked to find their manager on the bench, bent over a clipboard with Hiruma. She looked up, smiling. "I dedicate my next catch to you, Mamori-swan. With you watching it'll be a cinch-max!" She waved back politely, though her smile was somewhat strained. Without looking up from his notes, Hiruma flipped a rifle over his shoulder and fired two warning shots in front of Satake. The nearly punctured boy jumped, landing in the arms of Yamaoka who had been running beside him.

"Mamori-neechan didn't even flinch," Sena whispered, eyes like saucers. They jogged up to catch Kuroki and Juumonji.

"Hey," Monta panted, "Say something nice to Mamori-san." He delinquents looked at each other, shrugged, then called,

"Hey Manager!" Again the brunette looked up from her work.

"Is it time for a break yet?" Kuroki called.

"Another ten minutes. You guys are doing great!" She called back. Juumonji gave the smaller boys a sideways look. Sena gestured pitifully.

"Ah...Cuz' you know," Juumonji started. Sena nodded fiercely. "You ah, always make the best snacks for us. We're really lucky!" Mamori blushed and cupped her hands to her mouth, but he reply was drowned out by a grenade falling behind Yamaoka, still carrying a stunned Satake. The boys looked to each other, an epiphany dawning on each stunned face.

"Mamori-neechan, can we walk home together?" A bazooka went off, sending the basketball players flying.

"Mamori-swan, could you help me stretch after practice?" A spray of bullets was sent toward the track field, the minimal cry of Ishimaru could be heard in the distance.

"Hey Manager! The locker room is spotless! Where do you find the time?" A short-range missile headed for the school's second floor, no doubt the location of the sumo club. All the Devilbats were watching now, their grins growing wider as they thought of Hiruma's arsenal dwindling with every shot.

Finally fed up, their captain turned on them, looking pissed. "Hey, damned pipsqueaks! If you can shout," his smile turned wicked, "you're obviously not running fast enough!" From nowhere, bombs began raining from the clear blue sky. All around them, explosions tore chunks from the field, forcing the players to run literally, for their lives.

The fire strike died down quickly. Suzuna and Yukimitsu caught up, followed by Togano and a spinning Natsuhiko Taki. For a lap they ran in silence, considering what they had just learned.

"Ya! Isn't this quite the exciting turn of events," Suzuna crooned, skating slowly beside the players. The boys nodded sagely.

"And if my figures are correct, he should only have three grenades and another clip for his semi left," Yuki helpfully added.

"Wonder if he'll have to cancel practice once he's run out," Togano mused.

"A-ha-ha! If he cancels practice," Taki sang, "Monsieur Hiruma will have the afternoon free to spend with Mademoiselle Mamori."

Before Monta could raise an objection, a dark shadow appeared before the runners and the party was forced to a complete stop. The team fell into a tangled lump at the feet of the Spartan captain, who was once again out for a pound of their flesh. His smile was pleasant, definitely not a good sign.

"Look at you all working so hard; truly it warms my cold black heart. Now let's see; why it seems the damned baldy was right, three grenades and a full clip left. Forget for a moment, that I have _wonderful_ aim with most projectiles," The pile unraveled slowly as the boys began to flee, "and instead do a little dance I call you're-gonna-be-begging-me-to-end-your-pathetic-lives-if-you-stop-those-feet ya damned punks! Ya-Ha!"

Omake:

Mamori looked on from the bench, the screams of her now mentally scarred teammates barely audible above the roar of both the blond and his weapon of choice. Knowing his arsenal consisted mostly of rubber bullets and flash grenades, she wasn't surprised that each and every one of her boys could still limp home and get ready for practice tomorrow. She barely paused in her work when he sat down beside her. Though he waited for a comment from her about his methods, she couldn't find anything that deserved a full-on argument. Instead she simply settled on pointing out, "They're just being friendly."


	24. Tail incomplete

24. Tail

It followed him like a black shadow, striking fear and panic into others and yet, she fights hard to suppress her chuckle whenever she sees it trailing crookedly after him.


	25. Invisible

I didn't want to go the normal route this prompt would take me, and I thought this up in a drabble-generating exercise so...

I have got to write longer drabbles, so sad TT_TT

I's bissy, really really bissy... *snif*

25. Invisible:

No other living soul saw the video tapes of her in a cheerleading outfit or of her during the Deimon Sport's Day.

On a whim one afternoon, when all the other boys had packed up and left for the day, he'd tried to teach her how to throw the perfect spiral. He'd set her up with the perfect posture, a full rundown on technique, and a word on how she should be thinking only about the hands that would catch it.

She'd failed miserably on the first try, but could manage a lopsided toss after the second try. Conversely, after having to shout at him to throw it easier, she could even catch a few of the passes he sent her.

Once she'd gotten it down, he began to lose interest, instead setting her up to see what her dash record was. Her reminding him that he already had her gym records backed up somewhere and that this was pointless fell on deaf, pointed ears.


	26. Malady

26. Malady:

'I suppose even heartless monsters get sick', she thought, watching him yell instructions and practice routes to the team, despite his fevered cheeks and haggard eyes.

All it took was a cough; it was more of a 'keff' than a cough, but she heard it none the less. Immediately her eyes scanned the group, searching for a flushed face or telltale sniffle. The boys seemed tired, but fine for the moment. She nearly relaxed before hearing the sound again, more forcefull this time, but still inaudible to those who weren't listening.

He strode past her, toting a duffle full of ammo and his favorite gun. She didn't speak, but simply stared until his gaze fell to her. Their eyes locked, and so began their silent battle. If one cared to look, they might have seen sparks from the sustained effort:

Your vision is watery.

They needed more practice.

Would you listen to yourself?

I've had worse.

Rest!

I have to go.

She was the one to break their connection first. Her downcast eyes allowed him the chance to leave. He called to his team in a clear voice, "Get up! No more breaks! We're gonna get there if it kills us!" Her teammates jumped to attention before their captain; weary, but ready for more.

Her eyes followed him closely that day.


	27. Embarrassment

27. Embarrassment:

Suzuna refused to let Mamori escape the humiliation of being caught kissing the captain of the Devilbats on the cheek.

"Mamori and You-nii sitting in a tree…"

"Suzuna-chan! Please, stop! Please! It's not what you're thinking; WAIT!" the manager cried, finally catching the cheerleader and spinning her around. "I told him a secret, you just saw from the wrong angle, that's all! Ha-ha-ha-… me kissing Hiruma-kun, how silly! Ha-ha-ha…" Suzuna made a face and wiggled her pompoms.

"So his face had a little pink kissprint from…" Mamori reddened.

"Ya!" She cried triumphantly, then saw her friend's face and quickly quieted. "Sorry, sorry Mamo-nee. But it's okay, I won't tell anyone."

They reached the field to find the players on break. Suzuna plastered on a smile, shot a look at Mamori and said, "Ya! Toga-kun, how's Naruto doing? Still in the *CHU*nin exams?" Mamori twitched.

"Sena, Mon-mon; can you believe we're in the Christmas Bowl? I love Christmas, even though it's a time for Couples." *twitch twitch* "What's your favorite Christmas carol? Mine's… 'I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Clause.' It's so funny, right?" *twitch twitch twitch*

Sena gave her a worried smile and pointed behind her,

"Ah, Suzuna; I think there's something we need to tell you."

"Huddle up ya damn brats! We haven't won anything yet!" Hiruma arrived looking bored, leaning his submachine gun against his shoulder, the little pink smudge still on his cheek. Suzuna stared.

"We know already."

"Eeeeehhhhhh?"

Omake:

"Hiruma-kun! Mou- that's embarrassing; wipe it off, please!" But the quarterback just cackled. Mamori sighed and swiped at it with a handkerchief, then glanced at Suzuna. "Sorry Suzuna-chan. I just get a little embarrassed when I get caught." Hiruma snorted and rubbed his chin thoughtfully,

"I'll say. Remember that one time in the clubhouse when…"


	28. Diversion

28. Diversion:

He tried to concentrate on the beach football game but his eyes inevitably slid back to the person who didn't realize she was showing a little too much skin.

Fully restocked and thoroughly pleased with his latest purchases, Hiruma headed back toward the beach and slowly made his way toward the site of the Beach Football tournament. He dropped his bags beneath a palm and joined it a moment later, sitting back to enjoy the match.

Hnnn…Kid's quickdraw pass'll be a real challenge in the fall tournament. Pair him up with Tetsuma and they'll be nearly impossible to catch; Kekeke, those tattooed freaks'll never stop him. Strategies for the fall tournament were already forming in his brain, but were soon forced out when a flash of yellow caught his eye.

That damn Manager doesn't realize just how small that top is, does she? And that skirt just keeps flashing more and more thigh.

The crowd began to roar as Monta neared the field's small end zone. Hn, the Damn Monkey scored. But the other fucking chibi's down again; can't fly like he normally does with her around. Despite the game before him, his eyes again drifted toward her, just in time to watch her free her legs from her beach skirt and blitz the Tatoo's quarterback. He raised his arm too high for a short pass like that. And there she goes; heh, touchdown for the damn manager.

Tearing his eyes away to scan the crowd, the quarterback gave a low chuckle as his eyes settled on a short man collapsed on a nearby bench. Found the damn alky, right where I knew he'd be, passed out as usual. The crowd swelled with cheers as another touchdown was scored, dragging Hiruma's attention back to the game before him. Now those damn thugs'll have to step it up a notch; and there it is, 'dance of the flea?' Unimpressed with their tactics, the boy gave a loud snort. No prospective players here if this is the best they've got. Again the Devilbat's manager danced across his vision. The skirts back on I see.

He didn't have to look up to know who had settled in beside him. "In beach football…I guess it's important to toss around short passes?" Kurita questioned.

The captain nodded but continued to watch, "That's useless in regular football."

But I could watch this all day.


	29. Genealogy

29. Genealogy:

If Mamori was the 'mother' of the team, he would be considered the 'father', punishing the 'children' for their "misbehavior" or for not doing their "homework."

"Sena!" Mamori rushed onto the field, tossing her clipboard and flinging herself into the dirt beside the boy. She inspected the lump growing on his forehead, then turned to Monta who lay comatose beside him, finding the wide receiver in similar distress.

"Look where you're running, ya damn kiddies!" Hiruma barked, finishing his throws to Taki and Yukimitsu before coming over to inspect the damage they'd inflicted upon each other.

Mamori scowled at the quarterback, but whipped her head back to the runner in her arms when he started coming to. "Sena? Oh God, are you alright?" She cried, giving him a light shake.

"Five more minutes Mom, I promise I'll get up," he mumbled into her arms.

"Kekeke, well that rules out a concussion," Hiruma chuckled, drawing near.

The girl made a face, obviously not convinced, "He thinks I'm Mrs. Kobayakawa!" She peeled back the runner's eyelids one by one.

Hiruma snorted, shrugging off her concern, "Yer' practically his mother anyway, what's the difference?"

Monta was beginning to stir as well. After recieving a less-than-gentle nudge from Hiruma's cleat he clumsily waved the captain off, "I've been in baseball too long for a little blow to the head to stop me." He shook off the worst of it, then noticed Mamori beside him crushing a partially-conscious Sena to her chest. "Is he gonna be ok?"

Mamori frowned, "I think so Monta-kun, but I think he'll have to sit the rest of practice out."

Hiruma scowled, pulling the still dazed boy from her by the scruff of his jersey. "He's fine damn manager. If you'd quit babying the kid, he'd be able to take a knock to the head without all this damn drama." Sena managed to stand with Hiruma holding him up by his shoulders, "You in there damn pipsqueak?"

Tilting his head, Sena squinted at the blond, grinning like a madman, "Dad? You should have left for work already; you're gonna be late."

The captain snarled, looking disgustedly at the running back, released him and turned for the field. "Che. Fine, you can have him, he's no good like this." Sena giggled and began to slump. Mamori shrieked, gathering him up and leading him slowly back to the bench.

Sena turned in her grasp to wave lazily, "Bye Dad, have a good day at work!"

Omake:

The rest of the team, wholly left out of the spectacle unfolding at center field, headed for the bench, determined to squeeze in a break before Hiruma noticed them again.

Togano looked at his friends, "Mom and Dad huh?"

Juumonji shrugged, "It suits them."

Kuroki paled, seeing 'Dad' approach. "Maybe too well."


	30. Hero incomplete

30. Hero

He swore that if that blundering halfwit of a beast even came an inch in her direction, four tazers won't be the only things sticking out of his body.


	31. Presumption

31. Presumption:

On the day of the finals, she met him again at the locker room, expecting yells, curses, and bullets but never a rough, unchaste meeting of two lips.

Her mouth had been captured; calloused hands clasped the sides of her face as he robbed her of breath. Long, lean arms enveloped her, crushing her to him. She could feel her lips bruising, being mashed against tooth and lip, driving all rational thought from her.

They'd been arguing…about something unimportant... She bit back a moan when his hands roved across her back, down to her waist, a quick squeeze of her butt, then back up again to lose themselves in her hair.

She was unable to breathe, though not for lack of trying.

All she could feel was the heat radiating off him, pooling in her stomach and drawing sweat from her brow.

A bell sounded in some faraway place. She tried to pull away, but a hand grasped the back of her head, holding her to him.

She froze. Not because of the strength of the hand that entwined in her hair; the fingers, the hands, the long frame pressed against her.

The hands that held her trembled.

Her arms had minds of their own, reaching up to rake her fingers through his hair, scratching his scalp, before descending down his neck and back. Even as he pulled her closer, she could feel their tension, questions, worries, decisions, goals, presumptions, thoughts and probabilities, melting away in this searing first kiss.


	32. Bewitched

32. Bewitched:

There was only one time he smoked in front of her and she still remembers the way the smoke curled around his thin spidery fingers and how he blew out a semitransparent haze right at her face impertinently, his lips curled in amusement.

"Ah."

Both Hiruma and Musashi looked up at the sound of the door clanging open, and nearly left their seats at seeing the Devilbat's manager charge in with wet hair, grasping a bucket of water with the full intent of dousing whatever fire she was sure had started in the club room. She stopped short, surprise obvious on her face, to find the pair part-way through a pack of Seven Stars, one lounging with a copy of 'Football Monthly', the other a laptop and a cup of coffee.

As realization then anger played across her face, the carpenter closed his magazine and put out his cigarette into a can on the table. He stood slowly and made a break for the door, knowing full well who was going to get yelled at and figuring that he didn't need to get sucked into it. He slipped past her, and managed to shut the door behind him before the fight began.

Omake:

"D'you smell somethin' burnin' Sena?"

The small boy coughed and waved at the air wafting out from inside the club room, "Smells like cigarette smoke." The sounds of an argument along with muffled gunshots trickled out from inside. Sena quickly backed away from the door. He looked at Monta, both boys reluctant to enter. "Wanna pretend we never came here today?"

Monta's worried look changed to relief. "Yep. Wanna come over my house, there's a ballgame on tonight."

"Sure, I'll call my parents on the way." The pair left, feeling wholly better about their new plans for their Saturday night.


	33. Tears

33. tears

hiruma sick

mamo comes over

sets up his bed and lets him wk

as he 's pused to the shower the realizes that he'd move mt fuji to keep a single tear from falling


	34. Unique

34. Unique

Raising an eyebrow at the interesting ingredients he brought her, she explicitly told him "bomb shells, grenades and bullets are not used to make cookies."


	35. Silk

For the first time I choose to pinpoint an event. This takes place between chapters 167 and 168 because I need a reason for Mamori's Kanto-Tournament haircut.

35. Silk:

Her skin was soft, smooth and creamy, forbidden from coarse hands, teasing any jealously watching eyes, the heavenly fantasy of any man… and it was all his.

She sat there on his lap, feeling the padding from the front of his uniform pants on the back of her bare thighs, and wondered what to do next.

She'd lured him here, under the pretense of a new strategy for the upcoming game, told him that he'd run a play with Sena and Kurita and to wear his uniform.

She'd requested that he come in the evening, on a night when she was sure everyone else had plans; to the point of creating plans for a few of them.

He'd arrived on time to find her sweeping up for the night, wearing his jersey; only his jersey.

She'd initiated it all, walking up to him slowly, asking if there was anything else for her to do tonight, lightly pushing him into a chair and telling him not to lift a finger, she'd take care of everything.

She'd watched his normal bored look dissolve into shock, then rebuild itself with frustrated anger laced with hungry desire as she'd slid into his lap, like a child asking Santa for presents.

His hands slid themselves up her arms, turning her torso to face him properly. She blushed as he took a long look at her, his eyes sliding from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. The light blush she'd been sporting since she was fully clothed this afternoon bloomed across her face, making her wonder if that was why she couldn't feel her hands or feet.

He leaned in very, very close, until their noses just barely touched. A breathy gasp escaped her. He removed his hands from the hold he had on her forearms to cup the face so close to his. Their eyes locked and she couldn't decide if she wanted to run screaming or simply end the torture and push him into the couch, game for anything he brought up.

He was the first to break their gaze, tilting her head down and placing one kiss onto her forehead. She pulled her face from his large hands and stared at the boy. He grinned, emerald eyes still full of tightly guarded emotion, "Can this wait until after the Christmas Bowl?"

Omake:

She slapped him, gathered her clothes and bag, and headed for the door. Before turning the handle she paused and turned her head, eyes to the side. She whispered,

"Yes," and left.


	36. Yohgurt

36. Yoghurt:

His sneering lips full of complaints and retorts were rewarded with a mouthful of a strange, white substance as a result of her waning patience.

Like she's promised, it wasn't sweet like he'd previously assumed. Sour, like curdled milk, but creamier somehow. Spoon still dangling from between his sharp teeth, he gave her a look, dubious of her actually choosing to eat this on her own.

She sighed, the way she set her mouth a testament that she'd been caught. She took the spoon from him, albeit rougher than was necessary, and dug out another scoop, this time taking an extra step and dabbing the loaded utensil into the adjoining compartment.

Again she offered it to him, and with a heave he lunged in to accept his spoonful. He came up a moment later, sputtering, tongue working to rid his mouth of the sweetness he'd just been fed.

"Honey. Knew you couldn't take that stuff unsweetened, fucking sugar queen."


	37. Endurance incomplete

37. Endurance

He almost gagged at the sickeningly sweet stench in the clubroom, making him want to burn and crush every flower to ashes; but at the sight of her delighted face, he tolerated it a little bit longer.


	38. Vampire

I...I just can't. I can't, really.

IT'S TOO CLICHÉ!

38. Vampire:

It was when she accidentally cut her finger with a scissor; but before she could apply the proper medical attention on it, his lips were already sealed over her injury, feasting slowly on her blood.

"Togano-kun; what have you got there?" the linebacker froze mid stroke, pen poised for the final inking of his master work. Mamori closed the door behind her, stepping into the clubroom and toward the table where the trio sat. The boy frantically tried to gather the pages he'd left to dry before she reached him while Juumonji and Kuroki did their best to stall her.

"Aaah, it's just another manga he's making Mamori-san," Kuroki gathered some toner pages and stood, trying to look bored.

Juumonji stood also, angling himself between her and the table, "More Jump parodies or something like that. Is us being in here a problem for you?" He asked, trying to sound sincere.

She smiled at them, knowing this diversion tactic well, "Oh another manga? I'd love to read it; is any of it finished?" Despite her warm smile, Togano's impromptu guards winced, sensing defeat. But Togano was ready by then.

"Sure Mamori-san." He smiled a far too cheery smile as he handed her one of his emergency backup pages. He let her scan the page for a moment before asking, "What do you think?" She returned his page.

"You're getting better at drawing girls Togano-kun, good job." The three simultaneously smirked in triumph. "But…" she began, "…Who are Hiru-kun and Mori-chan?" From nowhere a hand-held tape recorder was produced. The trio paled visibly. "You boys were very loud in here; I believe I heard Kuroki-kun saying," he shrank back as she eyed him carefully, pressing play,

" 'Cliché number thirty-eight is way to Out Of Character for Hiru-kun,' "

Togano's gravely voice countered on the tape, " 'But Mori-chan would totally fall for it!' "

She leaned on the table casually, words soft, "Were those your exact words, Kuroki-kun, Togano-kun?" There was nothing like the stare of a disapproving disciplinary committee member to make a person feel like they'd been caught with their hand in the cookie jar. Mamori's interrogation began. "Are you in trouble with someone?"

"Only if He finds out." Kuroki said.

"Are you doing anything illegal?"

"Doujinshi are perfectly legal." Togano replied.

"Will anyone be harmed due to your current activities, either physically or by means of reputation?"

"It's practically common knowledge anyway so, no," Juumonji responded, "again like Kuro said, unless He finds out too soon." Satisfied, Mamori stepped aside, finally allowing the boys to make a break for the door.

They'd nearly escaped when she called after them, "And boys?" The sight of her pleasant smile was marred by the tape she waved at their retreating forms, "Lets keep it that way, hmmm?" They broke their 40-yard dash records that day.

Omake:

They finally stopped outside Son Son convenience store, breathing heavy and hoping they'd seen the last of her for the day. "Did you… get them all?" Kuroki panted.

Togano gasped, but managed a nod. He drew from his bag their first collaborative work, checked quickly for smudging, and passing it to Kuroki. "Ha, I forgot how scary she could be in 'disciplinarian mode.' Let's add that into book two."

"Haaah? Book two? I'm not done adding the tone to this one! Hell it's not even printed yet! Toga, quit looking so far ahead."

Juumonji rocked on his heels, taking their nearly completed comic from Kuroki and giving the dialogue a hard look. "But do you think anyone will read it? It's packed with clichés and predictable plot twists."

Togano made a face, snatching the comic from his friend. "It's totally original! C'mon; a devil and an angel falling in love and running a football club? Who's thought of that before?"

A/N: Can you hear the sound of the fourth wall breaking?


	39. Pencil

If you squint, it looks like a clown on fire.

Ciao ~

P.S. If you think you can do better than Mamori-neechan, feel free to give it a try! I'd love to see what you come up with.

39. Pencil:

During one art class, she uncomfortably presented to the teacher her assignment of a portrait of another classmate and her teacher promptly told her it was her best artwork yet.

"That Jerk! That horrible, horrible jerk!" Mamori stormed into her bedroom, flinging her schoolbag toward her bed, not caring that it hit the wall and made a mark. She decided that even that was his fault.

"He's been running the team ragged, and I work my fingers to the bone to make this team run smoothly, and what does he do?" She rambled, stomping to her desk. Drawers slammed and squeaked as she searched. "He gives me more work and sends Sena out to run a hundred laps!" Snatching a pad and pencil from the desk the brunette turned on a heel and flopped to the floor, bracing her back against her bed; her best silent revenge would come from her worst subject.

"He thinks he's so intimidating with that dyed hair and all those earrings," Her pencil scratched wildly at the paper, zigzagging out his unconquerable blond locks. The outline of his pointed jaw and nose soon followed, "He thinks he's so smart. That his way is the only possible way to run a football team." She let her hand proportion him, drawing his spidery neck and shoulders in long, sweeping motions. "That he's the only one that wants them to win." She absentmindedly sketched in his ears, smudging in shadows with her fingertips.

"If he wants them to win," she mused, arching his eyebrows into a questioning look, "He's got to use everyone's skills to their fullest potential, since we're such a small team." She gave him a big bubble. "And that means," she sighed, leaning back to rest her head on the bed, "That he's got to push them hard; so they can be great." His eyes were last, a vague emotion caught within them.

She shrugged, putting the pad down beside her, "Guess that makes him right." She grinned, "Not that I'd tell him that."

Omake:

"Mamori, dinner." Her mother's voice floated up the stairs.

Feeling better than she'd expected, Mamori stood and brushed off her skirt. She reached back to the floor for the notebook that was laid beside her, and gave her picture one last look. It still looked as if a school kid had drawn the portrait for her, but it was certainly a middle schooler. She closed the notebook carefully and placed it on her desk before heading down for dinner.


	40. Heat

40. Heat:

During the return trip back to Japan, while she was asleep, she unconsciously leaned into his shoulder, seeking warmth, not realizing that his cheeks gave off a warmth slightly higher than its normal temperature.

After trying beach football, running 2,000 kilometers cross country, and the color and excitement of the casinos, the players of the Devilbats were more than happy to climb back onto the plane to go home. The only sounds in the cabin were the clinking of refreshment carts handing out extra pillows and blankets, the snores of the passengers, and the chattering of Juumonji's teeth as he remained steadfastly awake.

Sena slipped quietly down the narrow isle, wondering just how Monta managed to sleep mid-touchdown pose in such a small seat, when his eyes fell upon his protector's familiar face. He was relieved to find that even after forty days of nothing but traveling and football practice, Mamori still hadn't caught on to him. That worried him a little; it was unlike her to miss something so obvious. His disappearances, coupled with Eyeshield scoring touchdown after touchdown would be enough to make most question this phenomena. He'd even spoken to her in uniform, and yet she never seemed to question the mental image her mind had created of her childhood friend.

Trans-Pacific flights were uncommon at that such a late hour, so there were plenty of extra seats available. Sena found one up front to his liking and slid in, enjoying the extra room unavailable to him with his simian-like friend nearby. A laptop whirred to life in the dark cabin behind him. Sena searched for the source, the bright halogen light causing the boy to squint. Hiruma's angular face in the light of the screen was even more demonic than usual, if that were possible. High cheekbones shaded his eyes, giving them a hollow haunted look. He chuckled in the darkness, and Sena suppressed a shiver.

The older boy had been both a blessing and a curse; Sena was sure he'd never been so frightened or as excited in all his life as he was while playing American Football. Training was, as a roll of one stiff shoulder could tell him, a back-breaking experience. But so was battling on an open field with powerhouses like Shin and Panther. Being inches away from death and ultimate victory was a taste the runningback had only just begun to savor, and it was all due to the fervent desires of their resident devil.

When the boy's eyes finally began to filter the light, a small gasp escaped him. Mamori's soft face was illuminated by the light of Hiruma's laptop, pen falling slack in her sleeping hand, books and folders threatened to fall from around her lap and the seat she shared with the blond. They'd obviously taken yet another opportunity to run down ideas, plays, and strategies as the plane had taken off, but sleep seemed to have claimed her mid sentence.

Sena looked on, watching her easy breathing, thinking upon how much she actually did for the team. He realized with a start, that her dedication to the Devilbats had begun to rival that of Hiruma's. From preparations to plays, with a hand in nearly every part of the team's daily functions, it was a wonder she'd been able to keep up with any other part of her life. That she was able to keep so many tasks separate in her mind, it made him wonder if it was that same skill that caused her inability to put two and two together about him.

Her head shifted slightly. Sena leaned in to hear her as words formed on her lips, but the sound never reached him. He had nearly decided to roll over and get some sleep when Mamori shifted in her seat, turning away from the cool isle and toward the lighted screen. Hiruma cursed quietly, long arms and fingers reaching out into the darkness to catch her falling notes and folders. She muttered louder, Sena thought she might just wake up this time.

He stared unabashed, watching his oldest friend nudge herself closer to the body beside her, pressing her face into the warm shoulder she found there. Hiruma stopped typing. Both boys held their breath. Hiruma turned his head to look at her, causing his face to be lost into the darkness. Again she mumbled, pressing herself closer to the boy before quieting, finally comfortable once again. The one ear illuminated by the screen twitched.

Hiruma returned to the screen with a sniff, as if a show of indifference was in order. Sena had been fighting the urge to creep closer on the seats for too long, and soon found himself inching toward the isle armrest. Peeking out as close as he dared, he studied the faces of his two most important senpai. One looked peaceful, the other uncomfortable; but the light blush on both said more than any argument of theirs ever could.

Unexpectedly, the small boy smiled, turned back towards the darkness, and slid more comfortably into his empty seat. His immediate terror at the implications of the duo was fading into an odd feeling of contentment. Mamori-neechan was smart, and he trusted her choices. If she felt it was a good idea to become entangled with the devil himself, he supposed she'd be fine not grasping all the details just yet.

Omake:

Sena frowned in the darkness, pondering for a moment, then sighed dejectedly. Pulling out his phone, he snapped a quick picture. Suzuna'd kill him if he let her miss this.


	41. Revelation

41. Revelation:

Despite all the foul words he has uttered, Mamori found out that his mouth was best used for kissing.

He was nearly asleep, eyelids heavy, when he felt her poke his shoulder. He opened one eye, "Do we have another blanket?" a shapeless face in the darkness asked, "I need a cover." Hiruma sighed, but propped himself upon an arm and gave a halfhearted sweep of the room, before flopping back down onto his stomach with an unhelpful,

"Nope."

She bit her lip, trying hard not to ruin the moment and complain. Drawing his face closer, he smirked at her. "Self conscious, are we? Didn't seem like it, what with the way you were riding me a few minutes ago."

She flushed and slapped his arm. "You're so crude!" She rolled onto her stomach, hoping the new position would make the sleep come. "It's just not comfortable. I always sleep under a blanket, even when it's hot." She watched his face move through wicked enjoyment, to annoyed, to thoughtful; hoping her request had caught him while he was still feeling benevolent.

Suddenly she felt his hands on her, lifting her with a grunt, and pulling her into his bare chest. She didn't make a sound as he pulled at the quilt below them, tugging at it one armed, until at last with a satisfied noise he deposited her back on the floor.

An arm landed on tile and she squealed, pulling back from the cold. He was beside her a moment later, pulling her toward him with one hand, the other tossing the excess blanket over them both. She lay quietly as he pulled her close to him, allowing him to tuck the blankets in toward her, long playful fingers lingering over her exposed tummy. His knees butted in behind hers, his cold bare feet joining her smaller socked ones. He kept one arm to prop his head on, but draped the other over her waist, careful not to untuck them both. She reached up and interlaced their fingers, savoring this brief period of cozy, affectionate kindness.

"Better?" He whispered into her shoulder.

Knowing full well it would all but destroy their tender moment; she turned into him, free arm following seconds later, to hold the side of the devilish face she was kissing.


	42. Ordinary incomplete

42. Ordinary

It amazed her to find that his hand was as warm as any other human being.


	43. Scarf

43. Scarf:

Red and black stood out starkly against the white snow, wrapped around his neck and weaved by her fingers.

The door to the clubroom opened with a crash, allowing its violent captain to enter. Thick piles of snow covered both of his padded shoulders, another pile fought desperately to crush his ever present blond spikes. He snarled, dropping his helmet on the table. "Fucking snow!"

Mamori trailed in behind him, "It's like blizzard out there; how's the team supposed to practice in that? I had to send them home, they'd catch their death!" she cried, pushing the snow from her own hair and shoulders.

Hiruma continued to frown but didn't comment. The snow had come on too quickly and piled up too thick for the teams to practice in. Sending them home was the better choice, but with the Christmas Bowl only days away having to end practice early because of the weather was not pleasant. He fought the urge to kick something and headed for the locker room to change.

Mamori sighed. Having a full day's practice would have given the team more time to learn from their trainers, but snow like this couldn't be helped. Pulling her mittens on tighter, the manager steeled herself for the icy wind beyond the door. Grabbing a broom she reopened the door and for a few moments busied herself with pushing the last of the snow back out the door.

She was considering shoveling the snow away from the door when Hiruma stepped outside, clothed in a long wool coat and chewing angrily at a piece of gum. Mamori squinted at him, then pointed an accusing finger, "Hey! That's mine!" The demon of Deimon High had confiscated her newly knitted scarf.

The boy looked at her, and then fingered the scarf a moment, watching her face turn red from anger instead of the cold. From the small knots his probing fingers found, he could guess what kind of picture she had attempted to make at the ends. He smirked at the thought of yet another art project failing miserably.

"Kekeke, Then I know who to return it to, damn manager."

Mamori scowled and hastily made a snowball. Her throw was sloppy, missing him completely. The lump of snow made a wet thud into a snow bank beyond him. Hiruma turned and gazed at the hole in the snow bank, then back at his manager, still red in the face, but wearing a look that said she was expecting the return shot to be pinpoint accurate. He gave a bored look to her childish tactics,

"You suck."


	44. Bliss

44. Bliss:

A flash of lighting streaking across the darkened skies, illuminating its terror, thunder moaning like a wounded animal as the wind screamed and nothing could be better than standing in the middle of it all, drunk upon its eminent nightmare … except maybe her holding an umbrella above their heads.

"Hiruma-kun! It's going to rain. Stop practicing and help me clean up!" Mamori called to the quarterback who insisted on perfecting his spiral while the clouds approached. At the first droplets the manager redoubled her efforts, scurrying up and down the bench, hastily collecting discarded gear.

"American football can be played in rain, snow, sleet and sun Damn Manager," he replied with a grunt, but looked to the sky to confirm her suspicions. He lowered his arm, and slowly returned himself to a more familiar posture before tossing the ball back into the trash can with all the others. She jumped when she heard the can drop onto the bench beside her, but relaxed when she saw him snatching spare gloves and towels, throwing them in with the balls. The sprinkle became a drizzle.

"Where's the damned porker when you need him?" Hiruma shot a look over his shoulder to the far end of the field, "That training sled's a pain in the ass to move." Mamori's hands slowed as she followed his gaze, eyeing the heavy beamed and padded structure warily. She returned her eyes to her work.

"You sent everyone in already." She smiled toward the bench, "Worried that they might catch a cold out here?"

The blond laughed, "Hardly. You never do any weight training with the team anymore, and don't think I didn't see you tear your way into that extra large party-box of cream puffs yesterday. Thought you should have some time to burn it off. Everyone on the team has to stay in good physical condition, you know." The storm crackled above her appropriately as Mamori turned on him, her face a spectacular shade of Devil bat red.

"You jerk! I'll give you weight training!" The captain was suddenly weighed down by an armload of soggy towels and yard markers. "Take that!" she crowed.

"This is your idea of heavy?" he sneered, shaking the pile in her face. It fell into the trashcan with a wet thud. Before she could react, his long fingers had wrapped themselves around her wrist. He tut tutted in his disappointment. "Like a bird, no substance. I could snap this in a heartbeat." Wide eyed, she slapped his hand away, jaw firmly set in an attempt to hold back moderately strong language. Instead she reached for him, her extended fingers settling near his hips, mimicking his waist.

"You're one to talk. I can practically get my hands around this skinny waist of yours." He bent to view her hands, arching his back and causing her thumbs to touch his belly. Through the soaked jersey, she could feel his muscles tighten under the light pressure. At their contact, Hiruma grinned.

"Stop molesting me out in this open field Damn Manager." He jeered, looking pleased as he watched her hands whip back to her sides. The wind picked up and she clenched her fists; but he was looking skyward.

"Molest? I barely touched you! And it was you who grabbed me fir..." Suddenly his arms were wrapped over the tops of her shoulders, his head bent protectively over hers, and she was enveloped in his personal space. Body heat radiated off of the captain, their scents mingled in the humid air. "Hi-Hiruma-kun!" She started.

"Shh. It's gonna downpour." As his words hit the air, the skies opened, and the pair found themselves instantly soaked. The rain, which had before been little more than a foreboding drizzle, now came down in sheets. The wind whipped at them, howling angrily.

Through the space between his arms she was sure she'd seen lightning. The thunder roared loudly above them. There was no way to escape the rain, and as soaked as they were now, it didn't really matter if they tried to move or not. "I wish I had an umbrella," Mamori mumbled, hating the sight of her hands resting on him like this, refusing to acknowledge how well she seemed to fit against him. She felt the laughter rumble deep in his chest.

"No you don't."


	45. Air

P.S. this is the first time i've tried a continuation from one prompt to another, please tell me what you think. Thanx

45. Air:

He believed that their arguing uses too much of their breaths while their kisses left them too breathless.

Hiruma and Mamori faced off inside the empty clubroom, where yet another of their now-infamous battles was heatedly unfolding. Their original dispute had been forgotten, lost in the long list of grievances the pair intended to get out into the open today. They stood, poised for action, each firmly clutching their weapon of choice. The tension was palatable as they attempted to stare each other down, both waiting for the moment when they would begin their next wave.

Unexpectedly, Hiruma gave a scornful snort. He straightened, disengaging his opponent, and dropped his firearm to the table. "I'm tired." Ignoring the girl, he sloppily fell to the couch, letting out a heavy sigh.

Their current battle forgotten, Mamori shrugged and followed his lead, replacing her broom in its cabinet and heading for the couch. She plopped down beside him and wrung a bit more water out of her quickly drying hair, before worming herself into his lap a moment later. They sat together in silence, letting the room lose its tension.

"Why do we always fight?" Mamori murmured, gripping his shoulder lightly.

"Because we disagree; on training methods, on tactics, on food, on most ideas in general," the captain reasoned, arms tightening around her. He allowed his head to fall back until it leaned against the wall behind him.

She shifted in his lap, face turned upwards to watch him; "Do we always have to disagree?" She sighed, leaning her head on his chest and listening to his steady heartbeat. "It just seems so pointless at times."

Face impassive, Hiruma gazed out into the empty clubroom. "Usually it's to keep the damned kiddies off our backs, but it does seem almost natural, doesn't it? Like this is all we're good for whenever we see each other."

At his words she smiled and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling on him until he'd met her eyes, "I know that if we put our heads together," she placed a kiss on his pointed nose, "we can find something else to do together."

Omake:

The boy beneath her grinned lewdly and waggled his hips, nearly cackling as she reddened under his gaze. What?" she asked, feeling uneasy with his eyes slowly studying her like that. The demon grinned, very glad she had asked.


	46. Irrisistable

46. Irresistible:

He can't seem to stop from teasing, annoying, ridiculing and exasperating her; she looks beautiful even when angered.

"Hiruma-kuun!"

His grin widened; finally the first good shriek of the day. Creating chaos was one of his favorite pastimes besides Amefuto and artillery strikes. He chuckled as he watched her stomp toward him; arms swinging, face flushed, making her normally quiet shoes slap menacingly and echo in the corridor.

If she found him in class it would take all of her good-student training and manners not to scream at him until his ears bled. When they were in the clubroom, she might brandish a mop. He hoped, as she drew near, that she would try to slap him. And since he just so happened to be in an empty classroom, he was quite sure of what was coming next.

He was always a little impressed that he could make her angry enough to try and strike him but she was never fast enough, her movements were so predictable that he could catch her hand easily. She'd be even madder then, the smoke nearly pouring out her ears. With her face flushed and her eyes glistening, her hair mussed and sticking out at odd angles; she could not look more beautiful in his eyes. She was craft and firepower and senseless guts all rolled into one and damned if that didn't make him hot.

In a busy classroom he would be forced to feign boredom and retreat from the scene they created. In the clubhouse his grin would carry her past the point of coherent thought, their teammates running for cover as bullets and brooms filled the air. But in times like these, that's where the predictability ended, because alone, well; anything was possible.

He could kiss the hand he'd deftly caught, or take a nip of her tallest knuckle. Smooth down her unruly locks, or slowly slide his fingertips down her face and neck. Calm her down and send her back to class, or wind her up like a mechanical toy and then slip away to leave her with her thoughts.

He chose to end the fun there, releasing her hand to instead lay his lightly upon her shoulder. He fought to drag his eyes from hers, his hand mimicking as he turned for the door, dragging his long fingers from one collarbone to the other. "See you at practice, damn manager."

Omake:

Mamori closed her eyes and let go of a breath she hadn't meant to hold. Air filled her lungs, and her pulse slowed until she was sure she was back to normal. She opened her eyes and smiled, "Man, I needed that."


	47. Confession

47. Confession:

There were no words, only symbols and signs, impossibly spun by her fingers, too intricate and too abstract for any ordinary mind to comprehend; it was a mystery to others and a secret message to him.

A hush fell over the student body as she took the stage. It was only natural for her to be named Valedictorian for their graduating class, despite her abysmal grades in Art. Anezaki Mamori strode gracefully toward the podium, holding her notes in one hand, smiling and nodding occasionally to those who waved at her from the crowd.

With a flick of her eyes she scanned the room to find the only other student with the marks high enough to have joined her there today, but for obvious reasons was far too dreaded a character to have been chosen.

It wasn't hard; a high-backed easy chair had been dragged in to afford the angular teen the most comfortable seat in the house. He sat, casually cleaning an assault rifle, giving the principal such a look that the poor man had broken into a fierce sweat.

He leered up at her, then raised a hand and made a quick gesture. She avoided his gaze and continued across the stage, but signed him back none the less. He sat a little taller in his chair and signed again, but frowned when she refused to reply.

Mamori chose to ignore him, beginning her address. "Accomplishment; it is defined as an act or instance of carrying into effect; fulfillment. In the years we have spent at Deimon Senior High School, we as classmates, students, and as individuals have tried our best to accomplish any task put before us. Whether it be in academics, sports, or in the pursuit toward better understand ourselves as people, this class has taken their challenges and in leaps and bounds, and has fought valiantly towards its completion."

Through her opening he continued to send her messages, hoping to trip up her oh-so-important little pep talk. Finally tired of watching him, she angrily signed him back around the corner of the podium. The students before her looked around at each other, wondering what their Valedictorian was doing.

"Often we have succeeded in our endeavors. When we've failed we've simply redirected and began again. Some of us are still trying to attain our goals, and won't give up until all of our dreams have been accomplished." Hiruma was up to two hands now, his gun forgotten at his side. Mamori tried to keep her gestures to a minimum, but there was no way to ignore a straight-faced speaker waving one hand wildly while simultaneously trying to give a very solemn speech.

"As you leave this school and join the world, please take these values with you when you go, they will be an invaluable tool for success in life. Please remember; always try your hardest when a task is set before you. Don't get discouraged when plans don't go smoothly, find a way to turn things in your favor. And never give up when there is something worth fighting for."

By now the students had realized what was going on, and for all the time Mamori had spent carefully constructing this address, most of her classmates were only partially listening. She watched as they focused on her signing hand, then fought the urge to groan as every head whipped around to follow him sign her in return. They could only imagine what sort of exchange was going, or why it had to be during their graduation speech. "With these thoughts in mind," Mamori doggedly pressed, refusing to acknowledge the scene she was creating, "I wish you the best, Deimon senior class. Go out and accomplish something great." Suddenly, Hiruma was standing; one hand was resting casually on his hip, though his face was perfectly serious. His other hand made a complex motion, ending palm-upraised, as if asking her to dance. All eyes turned to the stage.

Mamori stood thunderstruck, staring openmouthed at him, barely daring to breathe as she took in the meaning of his gesture. There was a collective gasp when her numbered note-cards fell to the floor, and just as suddenly as he had stood she was running across the wide stage and down the steps toward him. The students parted as she entered the crowd, calling and cheering and whooping loudly as she reached him, flinging her arms around his neck and kissing him soundly. His arms tightened around her, and the once dignified room fell into chaos.


	48. Fire

48. Fire:

Not even the rain could douse the passion of their kisses.

"Yaaaa, isn't it romantic?" Suzuna sighed, leaning heavily on the windowsill. She propped her head on her folded arms, smiling sleepily, to watch the Devilbat's captain and manager clean up from practice, moving quickly in hopes of beating the fast-approaching rain.

Only after letting another, less subtle sigh fill the empty classroom, did the delinquent trio decided to indulge her. Kuroki paused in his card game to glance out the window, "Haaah? They're getting rained on out there." Juumonji nodded, not bothering to look up from shuffling cards,

"That's gotta suck. They'll be soaked."

"Wouldn't wanna be them." Togano muttered into his comic.

Suzuna frowned at the boys, "You just don't get it, do you? A pair like that only comes along once in a lifetime. I mean, look at them!" She waved an arm toward the darkening sky, "They're so different. Mamo-nee is so kind and understanding and helpful, while You-nii always looks out for number one. But you can tell from just one look that they're crazy about each other," she smirked, "Not that they'd ever confess to one another."

"At times it's too hard to watch because you never think it's going to go anywhere." She stared out the window to catch Mamori explode at the captain, who was at the moment laughing his head off. "But it's the little moments that they share, whether it's cleaning up or sharing coffee while working on plays, that make you hopeful for your own relationships." The rain began, drops quickly melding together into sheets down pouring on the half-finished pair.

Togano sighed, closed his manga and gave the cheerleader a hard look. "If she's so kind and understanding," He began, "then she sees his subtle signals and has enough sense to take what she can get, because she knows it's all he can give with the mindset he has now."

"She must see that he likes her back," Juumonji continued, slowly turning cards one-by-one onto the desk, "but with a football career in his future, coupled with the many 'activities' he pursues to keep himself at arms length from others; that's a huge trust obstacle to overcome. She understands that and keeps her feelings in check, she doesn't smother him, because she knows it will only hurt her."

Kuroki reached for the pile of cards, shuffling slowly, "Perhaps later in life, if they can continue as they are, he'll open up a bit more for her. And she'll get the knight in shining armor that she's known about for so long."

"And as for Hiruma," Juumonji continued, "He knows she likes him; he's seen her looks and commented on the attention she gives him, but he always makes light of it for the sake of the team." The blond leaned back in his chair, and had a long stretch, "He knows that if anything is going to happen with them she's gonna have to initiate it. He's going to wait until she takes his hand before he'll take hers unexpectedly. He'll taunt her until she wants to kiss him, then swoop in and take her by surprise. Even later on, when things get really serious he knows he'll have to wait for her to decide on something before he can one-up her on it."

"Maybe that's why he lets her get away with so much, so he gets to win in the end." Kuroki added.

Togano snorted into his comic, "Naw, she lets him win."

As soon as Suzuna had retrieved her chin from the floor it had fallen to, she took a minute to consider their words. She couldn't deny it, those three had them pegged.

Omake:

The cheerleader sought solace back at the window sill, from which she could view the now stranded couple. Her face bloomed into a smile. That it was raining like mad, and the fact that they were standing in the middle of a deserted football field, seemed to have no effect on the teens. From her perch on the second floor, it looked to Suzuna, that to them, being together was all that mattered.


	49. Waltz

49. Waltz:

Their dance, at first, was awkward, often coarse and clumsy, but in the end it evolved into a beautiful promenade of passionate movement and ethereal rhythm, swaying to a melody that only they can hear.

"Ah, Suzuna?" Suzuna looked up from her hiding place at the window, wide eyed, to stare up at Sena and Monta. The boys stared back at the crouching girl with twin looks of confusion, as they watched her peek into the clubroom.

"What's up? You investigating again?" Monta asked, "I'm sure Hiruma-san would answer your questions if you just asked." Sena nodded, but the cheerleader gave a quick shake of her head and peeked in for a third time.

"You're not gonna believe this, but they're dancing in there."

"EEehhhhhh!" the pair struck poses, then squeezed in beside her under the closed window. They peeked as well. Monta turned back to the girl with a disgusted look,

"No they're not!" Sena sighed, perhaps from relief, and looked away as well,

"Suzuna, Mamori-neechan is cleaning. Hiruma-san isn't even standing, he's on his laptop. Sure, they're talking but…"

"No really! Here, take these," she pulled her headphones off and rolled the volume as high as she dared. Pressing play, it was as if the boys had taken off blindfolds, suddenly the scene before them became very, very clear. As the boys watched in abject horror, Suzuna continued.

"I'm supposed to listen to this CD for music tomorrow. I was trying to get the sheet music for it from my bag but I tripped; that's when I saw them." The boys nodded slowly, still caught up in their peeping.

"Hiruma-kun!"

The heavy beat of a piano was heard by the three, along with another sound they couldn't quite place. Mamori was first to initiate the fight, challenging the captain as she approached. Hiruma countered, swinging out of his chair to face her, sinewy power radiating from every inch of him, but still she advanced. He followed in suit until they were toe to toe, then almost casually reached for a gun and propped it on his shoulder. He jutted his chin out at an insolent angle, speaking as few words as possible. As if she'd been slapped, she retreated, face turned to the side, but he advanced, taking away the space she had made between them.

Renewed, she scowled and began again, twisting her body to shout at him sideways, one arm in the air, the other reaching for the broom in the corner behind him. He would not let her have it, and with a push to her shoulder, sent her spinning from her already unbalanced stance. He pressed on and she retreated to the far wall, then reversed, taking hold of a mop and charging him once again. He smirked, and fingered the trigger, slowly enunciating a soundless word to her. She reddened and whipped her face from his, turning her back to him and clutching the mop to her chest.

She watched as his hands came into view on either side of her, palms up, as if asking for forgiveness. She dared to look up and over her shoulder only to find him leering above her. She snaked a hand up and aimed for his face, but he caught her wrist and turned her, slowly, to face him again. Her left hand limply held the forgotten mop while her right dangled in the grasp of her captor. The song wound down, their eyes locked, he leaned in as if to deliver the final blow…

The door latch quivered. Their hands separated violently, both turning to resume their work as their teammates piled in. Suzuna looked at Monta, then at Sena. No one spoke as she dug in her backpack for the sheet music, the rustling paper sounding finally loud enough to rouse them from their stupor. Sena swallowed,

"So Mamori-neechan and Hiruma-kun …?"

"Are a Tango most profound." Suzuna whispered back. Monta looked pale. Sena tried to smile,

"Kind of makes you want to learn to dance, huh?"

Omake:

"If Mamori-chan and You-nii are a tango, then Kuritan is a polka."

"If Kurita-san is a polka, the Ha-Ha brothers are British Punk Rock."

"If they're punk rock, does that make Yukimitsu-san a "Book on Tape'?"


	50. Novel

I ran amok with semicolons. I wash my hands of that fact.

This piece is also more plush than a velvet fainting-couch, but again I wash my hands of that fact.

Jus' so you know, it's a Future Fic, (first one I've written) set in their late 20s.

50. Novel:

She was just a girl and he was just a guy, who happened to meet by chance, daring challenges, laughing at rivals, tasting both defeat and victory, creating impossible miracles and simply living through life together.

I ran amok with semicolons

Future Fic; late 20s

There was a function in the States, an American Football celebration. She came to cheer for her kouhai. He was paying a visit to the shrimp.

Their eyes met when he stepped into the crowded hotel room. That same shock of blond hair. It was the shoes making her look taller.

She fought the urge to run at him, shouting and cursing his name as though she were banishing a real demon from their midst. Years of practice came into fruition; his face was as impassive as ever as he stared back from across the sea of faces.

She politely shrugged off her company to find solace on a balcony, hoping her departure was as smooth as it seemed to her to be. He turned his eyes back to the crowd; mingling built contacts, an unfortunate necessity.

Festivities continued. The party wound down slowly, relinquishing only a handful of party guests every hour. They were like polarized magnets; neither could be found within any short distance of the other. Both said their separate congratulations to their former teammate, she cried and hugged him tightly; he smirked, and resigned himself to a handshake instead of an ass-kicking.

Sena had just been a boy when they knew him, but the years had made him wiser than they gave him credit for. He had seen the pair mingling with the other guests, they were easier to pick out than wolves among sheep, and he knew tonight would be the night to finally pay them back. When he received his handshake, his former captain's eyes widened when a folded business card was nonchalantly slipped into his hand. The still-shorter boy bowed to his Senpai, and left feeling victorious.

They finally met in the hall of the hotel which neither had committed to spending the night in. He fell into step with her. They walked in silence, but the way she fought with her muscle memory, re-training herself to not trail behind him, spoke volumes.

They traveled up one hall and down the next, around through the lobby and into the bar, then through the double doors and onto the grounds. Somewhere along the way, a room key was acquired.

Not a word was spoken as the electronic key chimed, or when the handle was levered downward, or when the door swung open. Their coats were hung carefully by the door, shoes were removed and pushed to the side, the mini-bar was raided and glasses were obtained from the bathroom. Drinks were poured, then left untouched.

Hands reached for each other simultaneously, then arms intertwined, then mouths crushed together into something sounding more like a weeping of relief than a moan of pleasure. No words had been spoken between them, none had to be. Both had realized long ago that their parting after senior year had been a mistake, though neither had done anything to right it.

I remember this, they thought, It's all coming back to me.

As an unstable couple, caught in the flow of their dreams and aspirations, they had parted. But now, no longer burdened with one another's absence, the years spent apart no longer mattered.

They had found each other again. They would do better this time.

Omake:

With a click that, with its raucous clang, should have woken the whole hotel, Mamori pushed the door to their room closed. She hadn't made it four steps down the carpeted hallway when her pocket began to buzz. Mamori pulled her phone from her purse, frowning at the unmistakable number and pondered for a moment why it had never changed, before flipping it open and pressing 'accept'.

"Where'd you get my cell number?"

The voice on the other end chuckled, "Kekeke. You wouldn't believe me if I told you."


End file.
